Love and Insecurity
by Quia in Aeternum
Summary: "She didn't really know, he often mused. She wasn't aware of how utterly and breathtakingly gorgeous she was, and how his heart literally leaped out of his chest whenever she looked his way." Just a little Jily fluff to brighten your day! Rated T for a couple super brief swear words. Remember: reviews are cookies!


**A/N: Dedicated to _Currently Elsewhere_. Thanks for your feedback and all, bud :)**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I am not J.K. Rowling (though I wish I was) and as a result, I do not own any of these characters (though I wish I did).**

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Everyone thought her eyes were her best quality.

They were vibrant, exuberant, and so full of life – just like her personality. They were as green as green could possibly be. He hadn't thought it was even possible to have eyes that green until he'd seen her for the first time on Platform 9 and ¾ right at the start of first year.

When she looked at him, he felt as if she could see right through all of his bullshit; as cliché as it sounds, he felt like she was peering deep inside him, right into his soul. She constantly unnerved him whenever she stared him straight in the eyes – hers were all-seeing. Just so open and knowing and downright beautiful.

There was no question that her eyes were gorgeous. But they weren't his favourite thing about her.

She wasn't particularly fond of her eyes.

She knew they unnerved people – and she didn't _mean_ to unnerve them. But the unintentional intensity of her gaze threw people off balance when she looked at them – especially when she held eye contact with them for a little too long. They were _too _green, she often thought. How can anyone's eyes be that green? It was unnatural, in her opinion – like if someone had red eyes. It was scary. Unnerving. Uncomfortable. And she hated making people uncomfortable.

People adored her hair.

It was fiery red – just like her temper. It wasn't a fake shade of red, like a lot of so-called redheads' hair was – "red" with an orange hue – it was real red, like a shade of blood, or a bright red apple. He swore that he'd never met anyone with hair as red as hers.

And he liked that. It made her all the more unique.

But it wasn't his favourite thing about her.

She couldn't stand her hair.

It was untamable and uncooperative, and it stood out much more than she'd like it to. Not only was it the most vibrant shade of red in the world, but also it was too curly to be neat.

Everything about her was organized and precise – her homework, her room, her workspace, her closet, everything – except her hair. And she'd tried on countless occasions to tame it, to no avail.

It was simply impossible.

(He'd admitted to her once that whenever he was looking for her in a large crowd, all he had to do was find her blood red, crazy hair in the sea of people. He'd also admitted that it never took long to find her. And she'd never tell anyone this, of course, but it was only then that she began to think that maybe her hair wasn't so bad after all)

Whenever people thought of her they thought of Christmas because the first thing they saw when they looked at her was bright green and blood red.

But he didn't.

Sure, red and green often came to mind when he thought of her. It was hard not to think about those colours since they practically radiated off of her vivacious presence. But they weren't the _first_ things that came to mind when he caught himself thinking of her.

The first thing he thought of was her freckles.

They filled up nearly every inch of space on her pale face – little brown specks scattered in random patterns everywhere. Whenever they were alone, sitting at the top of the Astronomy Tower and watching for falling stars (for she loved Astronomy almost as much as Charms, and he loved watching her face light up in anticipation of the exciting things the sky could bring) and she would tell him all about the different constellations in the sky and their names and stories, he thought about how her freckles looked like constellations of their own.

He told her so, once, that he imagined her freckles as little stars and her face was the universe, and the patterns and shapes they made were beautiful constellations, each with their own story. She'd smiled at him then, the smile she used just for him when he said something that made her incandescently happy – not the smile she used for teachers and unknown faces in the halls when she wished them a good day – but the special one, saved solely and purposely for him.

(He rarely said things like that – sappy things that normally made him cringe when he heard other couples say them to each other. But sometimes, he would look at her while she was doing something completely normal – like bending over her schoolwork and frantically scribbling the answers she knew to be right, or smiling, with her full, pink lips spreading across her face to reveal her slightly buck-toothed grin – and he couldn't help but blurt out his poetic and sappy thoughts)

But her freckles weren't his favourite thing about her.

She _hated_ her freckles.

She thought they made her look like she had dragon pox or some other disease. She constantly referred to herself as a leopard or a cheetah because of them, and when he told her that he loved leopards and cheetahs, she'd just scowl, shove him lightly and say, "You would like rats if I told you that a rat was my patronus, Potter" (what he didn't tell her was that he already loved rats because Wormtail himself was one on occasion, but eventually she would find out due to her plethora of knowledge, curiosity and skillful deductive reasoning).

Whenever he traced her freckles, she'd slap his hand away and told him to stop teasing her.

She didn't understand that he was mapping them, one by one, tracing them to make shapes by connecting them to one another. He made sure to account for each one everyday, when they sat in front of the fire in their private Head's dorm. When she asked him why he cared about them so much once, he replied simply – as if it were the most obvious thing in the world – with, "Because they're a part of you, and therefore the most important part of me."

He loved her laugh – it was a little too loud and she snorted a bit, and people often thought she sounded like a pig begging for food, but he loved it nonetheless. Her amazing eyes lit up and somehow became even greener than ever, sparked with amusement and utter happiness, and that would cause her whole face to brighten. And as much as he'd loved to annoy her in the past because of the way her pale skin flushed almost as red as her hair, and the way her eyes sparked with anger and hatred, he loved it much more when he saw her laugh.

But it wasn't his favourite thing about her.

She absolutely despised her laugh.

She never tried to stop her laughter, because she was genuinely a very exuberant girl and therefore couldn't live without laughing at least ten times a day. But she'd wished on more than one occasion for a different laugh.

She thought that she sounded like a snorting, chortling pig when she laughed, and she'd never been particularly fond of pigs.

He loved her skin. It was pale white, and burned as red as her hair and as pink as her blush when exposed to the sun for even a minute, but he adored it. It reminded him of the 2% milk that she loved to drink so much, and that she'd forced him to try when he'd told her he'd never had the muggle drink. She insisted that he'd love it, and, as per usual, she was right. The creamy liquid soothed his throat and quenched his thirst simultaneously. Her skin reminded him of that. It was as pale as the white drink was, that much was certain. And whenever he pecked her cheek or kissed her earlobe or collarbone, as a quick hello or goodbye, he swore he could taste remnants of that creamy substance on his lips.

But her skin wasn't his favourite thing about her.

She didn't like her skin at all.

She called it "uncooperative" and "bloody irritating". She complained that she couldn't spend five minutes in the sun without looking as pink as salmon, and feeling as roasted as a rotisserie chicken.

She didn't really know, he often mused. She wasn't aware of how utterly and breathtakingly gorgeous she was, and how his heart literally leaped out of his chest whenever she looked his way. He reckoned that she didn't know that half of the male population of Hogwarts dreamed about her and more often than not shared their dirty dreams about her with each other in the common rooms. This made him incredibly possessive and protective, and usually led to him either glaring ferociously at them and threatening to beat them with his Quidditch broom – if he was in a good mood. Or if he was in a bad mood, he gave them a month's worth of detention and took off fifty points from their House for speaking inappropriately about their Head Girl. He reckoned he was an alright Head Boy for doing so, though Moony just shook his head at him when he recounted his tales, and scolded him for using his authority for the wrong reasons, and Padfoot burst out laughing at his protective nature.

"You're a goner, Prongs," his closest friend would tell him good-naturedly. "She's got you completely wrapped around her finger." Padfoot would grin at him then, like he just discovered his mate's biggest secret. "You're so whipped."

He couldn't deny that, so he'd just throw a pillow at his best mate and tell him to bugger off before he sent him to detention too.

Out of all the things he loved about her, he had to admit that the thing he loved the most, above all the others, was her name.

_Lily Evans._

It flowed off his tongue so easily and so gracefully. Ever since he first met her, her name had been something that always stood out to him apart from all the rest. It was unique – he'd never met a girl named _Lily _before. And it wasn't overdone and clichéd like _Rose _or _Tulip _or _Petunia_ (unlike her sister, whom, after meeting her when visiting Lily's parents for the first time, he decided was an absolutely dreadful creature that tormented his beloved out of spite and jealousy). _Lily _was simpler, and yet so much more powerful and meaningful – to him at least. When he told Wormtail that, his mate looked at him strangely and said, "It's just a name, Prongs. I reckon Padfoot was right – you are a goner."

After that he decided to keep his silent musings about the lovely Lily Evans to himself.

He adored her last name too – Evans. The two names went together so easily: _Lily Evans_. Personally, though, he always thought that _Lily Potter _looked and sounded better.

And he knew that she thought so too, because the other day, when he asked her if he could borrow her Charms textbook (since he knew that she wrote helpful notes in the margins that he could use to his advantage) and she told him to search her bag, he found something that made his heart stop.

After he'd recovered her textbook and he'd opened it, he saw six words inscribed on the inside cover. To anyone else these words probably held no significance whatsoever, but to him, they meant the absolute world.

_Property of Mrs. Lily Evans Potter._

He went out the next day to Diagon Alley to buy a ring.

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**A/N: So that was my first Fanfic, guys! I hope you liked it, and please tell me what you think. And remember: reviews are cookies.**


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